


Embrace the cliché (or your boyfriend)

by Ruby_fruit



Category: Glee
Genre: Holidays, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-18
Updated: 2010-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-13 06:30:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruby_fruit/pseuds/Ruby_fruit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt doesn’t know if he’s ready to embrace this much cliché. Silly silly holiday fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Embrace the cliché (or your boyfriend)

Kurt gets about ten steps down Blaine’s driveway before realizing he has seriously misjudged either the temperature or the weft of his coat. The cold is that awful brittle kind that makes the bare skin of his wrists and face ache and the wind slices through his jacket and sweater like they’re tissue. Or rayon. Something awful and non-insulating. With the wind comes this sharp, granular snow that sifts right through hair and clothing and melts bitingly on his skin. It’s already up to his ankles and piled up on his car. Kurt turns and retreats to the cheery yellow rectangle of Blaine’s front door as fast as he can, stumbling back inside and feeling as shocked by the warmth as he was by the cold.

Blaine is slouched at the sink, washing their mugs out with his head down and Kurt stares at the back of his neck, the scruffy dark line of his hair, and the smooth stretch of his t-shirt over his back down to where it’s caught in the waistband of his jeans. He turns around at the noise of the door and the blast of cold Kurt lets in.

“Kurt?” Blaine steps away from the sink, drying his hands on his jeans, “Jesus, look at you.” He’s half laughing, half concerned, and Kurt thinks he probably looks like that creepy snowman from the Brisk commercials, starting to drip on the parquet of Blaine’s front hall.

“Going grey already,” Blaine says, brushing the snow from Kurt’s hair, “Did you fall? You all right?”

Kurt shakes his head, not trusting himself to talk without his teeth chattering. Blaine frowns a little and steps around Kurt to flip on the porch light and his eyes go wide at the whirling wall of white, snow falling sideways and whipped into flurries.

“You… are not driving in that,” Blaine says, light and firm, with an easy conviction Kurt envies and resents for a second until realization dawns that oh sweet mama monster he’s is going to be _snowed in_ with Blaine like some horrible Christmas song cliché.

“No it’s okay, I just, uh, thought I forgot something. It’s fine.” Kurt reaches for the door again.

Blaine catches his hand on the way to the latch, “Hey, woah. Unless you forgot your sled dog team and Inuit regalia you are not going back out there.”

Kurt can actually drive quite capably in snow; part of the deal that came with his car was attending something called ‘Skid School’, which involved flinging a battered boat of a Chevy with a hideous faux-wood panel exterior around a slushy, snowdrift padded parking lot. Kurt passed with flying colors and got an ugly, cheap t-shirt for his efforts. He even eventually admitted to his dad that it was kind of fun.

He’s going to tell Blaine all of this while being dashingly capable but that gets derailed with astounding force when Blaine says “Jesus, your hands are freezing,” and takes both of Kurt’s hands in his and sandwiches them between his own stomach and his hands. All of Kurt’s words die in a terrible pile-up somewhere around his adam’s apple. Well, all of them except ‘I think trying to warm me up with your body heat would work better if my hands were under your shirt’ but Kurt is absolutely not saying that.

Instead Kurt just kind of gapes, fish-like at Blaine, who beams back like there is absolutely nothing abnormal about what he’s doing. Blaine thinks that look can get him out of anything, Kurt has learned, which is just ridiculous. Kurt is sure he’ll learn to resist it soon.

“I really do have to get home,” Kurt says. He doesn’t want to go home, he wants to stay in this warm house with this handsome boy with the amazing vinyl collection who makes Kurt cheap hot cocoa in his expensive kitchen and who says terrible, cheesy things with sweet, goofy sincerity and touches him without an agenda to either hurt or pressure. And that is kind of completely terrifying. Kurt knows how to deflect and endure, he’s smart and he can be vicious, but he doesn’t know how to do this.

Blaine frowns doubtfully out the window; Kurt’s car isn’t even visible through the storm. Kurt does not think about the soft jersey of Blaine’s t-shirt under his fingers or the solidity of his torso under it or how he can totally see Blaine’s nipples through the fabric.

“Well, there’s a flyer in the kitchen with a bunch of car services and stuff, maybe you can get someone to bring you home.” Blaine sounds doubtful, but Kurt takes a deep breath and pulls his hands away from Blaine – something he thinks he should get an award for – and tells Blaine to lead the way. Kurt does take Blaine’s hand to be lead to the kitchen but that’s just to let Blaine know his hand-warming efforts were appreciated.

Kurt calls three cab companies and a car service and the nicest guy of the bunch laughs at him and hangs up. Blaine is puttering around the kitchen, wiping the spotless counter and being a terrible distraction.

“My dad is going to be worried,” Kurt says, looking out the window, arms crossed tight across his chest against the memory of the cold. That’s not really true, Kurt thinks his dad might be happier about Kurt making friends with Blaine than Kurt is, his curfew isn’t for hours.

“It’s probably up to your knees out there,” Blaine says, “I think your dad would be way more worried if you were on the road in this.” He’s leaning against the counter, a smile quirking the corner of his mouth, ankles crossed. He looks totally relaxed, like he has no idea how he makes Kurt feel.

Kurt looks down, “Maybe if you lent me a coat? I could go clean off my car and-” Kurt is interrupted when the wind roars and batters the windows so hard he flinches.

“Okay, maybe not,” Kurt says in response to the expressive arch of Blaine’s eyebrow.

Blaine pushes easily off the counter, and Kurt wants him helplessly and achingly, high in the back of his throat. Blaine stops just a little to close to be polite, Kurt holds his breath, then lets it out all at once when Blaine digs his fingers into Kurt’s front pocket and comes out with his phone, which he holds in front of Kurt’s face.

“Call your dad, let him know you’re staying here.” Blaine looks out the window and Kurt’s eyes drop from his face to the line of his throat and collarbone in the shallow vee of his t-shirt. “Seriously, Kurt, there hasn’t even been a plow out yet.”

Kurt shifts, then stops when his crossed arms brush Blaine’s shirt; he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Blaine’s parents aren’t home, and the house yawns huge around them suddenly. It’s not that Kurt doesn’t trust Blaine, just that the possibilities are frightening and overwhelming. He wants to knock the still-offered phone away and jump Blaine right down to the shiny kitchen floor. He wants the option to run away like a big coward back.

“I’m a carefree young man, Kurt, please don’t put your death by car crash or pneumonia on my conscience,” Blaine says, his serious, serious sincerity ruined by the exaggerated pout of his mouth and the wide-eyed, melting look he’s giving Kurt. That look is deadly. Kurt thinks he might help Blaine hide a body for that look.

“What will your neighbors think?” Kurt blurts out, and then goes red, but Blaine had said his parents told the neighbors to keep an eye on him while they were out of town, and his car – while rapidly disappearing under more snow than Kurt has ever seen – is still out in Blaine’s otherwise empty driveway and that woman next door in the designer sweatsuit had been out getting her mail and waved when Kurt had arrived. Kurt doesn’t want to cause trouble. Or scandal. Blaine laughs at him, not unkindly, with his neck red and his eyes all scrunched up, he scratches the back of his head, his unstyled hair a soft riot of curls, and Kurt finds it annoying how Blaine looks so attractive all the time.

“They’ll think I watch the weather channel obsessively so I can lure beautiful boys into my lair and trap them here,” Blaine says, mouth wide and lovely with his grin. Kurt gets stuck on the part where Blaine just called him beautiful and doesn’t do much but blink and open his mouth for a retort that isn’t there until Blaine presses Kurt’s cell phone into his hand and folds his fingers around it.

“Call your dad,” Blaine says, “I promise that your virtue,” he looks Kurt up and down and there’s something like intent in his eyes; it might be the rudest thing Kurt’s ever seen Blaine do and he immediately wants him to do it again, “is safe with me.”

Kurt does as he’s told, trying not to think about how he’d really rather Blaine get on with endangering his virtue. Of course, this is his life, so when someone picks up the line Kurt blurts out his situation without confirming that it is in fact his dad on the other line. It’s not his fault, really. Finn _never_ answers the house phone.

“Something wrong?” Blaine asks after Kurt hangs up, like he actually wants to know, like he’ll help if he can. The words come out of Kurt all in a rush.

“I um. Finn was there. He answered and I thought he was my dad and he cannot keep his mouth shut and neither can Rachel. Oh god, the whole school is going to know I was here overnight.” Kurt isn’t sure if he’s feeling more traumatized by the fact that Finn thinks he’s getting laid or by the potential gossip.

Blaine comes up behind him, his hand warm on Kurt’s back. His tone is soft and serious when he asks “Will that be a problem at school?”

Kurt thinks of the myriad of insults they already have for him, the incredibly stupid ones (fudgepacker? Honestly?) and the one that make his cheeks burn still (cocksucker, because he hasn’t but he _would_ ). He thinks about how it might be a little worse for a few days with the viciousness of assumed proof behind it, but then it would just be normal-awful. He thinks about earning those names, about _owning_ and something too angry to be triumph blooms in his chest and in the heavy pit of his stomach.

“No. No, it won’t, and no, I am not going to let anyone scare me into not living my life.” Kurt says, turning around, into Blaine.

Blain’s expression goes from eyebrow-furrowed concern and anger to delight and fierce pride with a quick u-turn at surprise. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, “and amazing and so much braver than I ever was, and I’m just going to keep saying adjectives until you stop me so if you don’t want this to get crazy you should prob-”

Kurt presses his hand over Blaine’s mouth and the rest of the sentence is lost in indistinct, warm mumbling, Blaine’s eyes bright and amused over the curve of Kurt’s palm. Kurt is pretty sure Blaine romanticizes the way Kurt endures high school because he ran away like any person with the means would. Kurt thinks that’s stupid and it’s made him a little warier with Blaine’s advice, but it’s kind of reassuring to know Blaine’s not perfect because otherwise Kurt would be checking for wires. He’s seen Stepford Wives, he knows that whole perfect robot thing never works out.

“I think you should go make me more hot chocolate,” Kurt is embracing his cliché and his complexion will just have to recover, “and show me the rest of those records.”

Kurt is proud of how smooth he sounds, but that ends abruptly when Blaine bites his palm gently and Kurt squeaks and snatches his hand back. Blaine grins at him, mouth red from the pressure of Kurt’s hand. Kurt does not think about the cooling, wet spot on his palm where Blaine’s mouth was.

“Wow, your hands are soft,” Blaine says, “okay, one hot chocolate and more music coming up.”

That’s when the power goes out. Kurt doesn’t know if he’s ready to embrace this much cliché.

They use their phones as flashlights to raid the bathroom and Blaine’s parent’s room for candles and then navigate the stairs back down awkwardly, phones in their teeth and hands full of frosted glass. The fireplace in the living room isn’t gas like Kurt assumed and he goes a little glassy-eyed watching Blaine coax a fire up, face bathed in light and still with concentration. Once the fire is crackling cheerily Blaine sits back on his heels and raises his arms in victory. Kurt wants to bite the soft inside of his elbow where it curves into his bicep.

“I haven’t actually used that in ages, but now we won’t die of exposure.” he says, looking up at Kurt proudly. Something of what Kurt’s feeling must be in his expression because the glee slides right off Blaine’s face and he stands up to face Kurt.

“Hey, I realize all of this,” Blaine’s gesture takes in the fire, the mountain of blankets and the fire hazard of candles, “is, um. A little creepy now that I look at it but I swear I don’t actually use the weather channel to lure pretty boys here and if you really do want to leave I’m sure we can figure something out.” Blaine is red-cheeked and wide-eyed, like he’s honestly concerned that Kurt might decide he’s way too creepy and flee into 2012 out there.

It has pretty much the opposite effect. Kurt grabs Blaine and hugs him hard. It’s a little clumsy, Kurt is still getting used to the whole physical affection thing, but Blaine wraps himself around Kurt right back and says something muffled to unintelligibility but still obviously happy into Kurt’s shoulder.

“What?” Kurt says, loosening his hold on Blaine’s neck.

“I said,” Blaine says smiling up at Kurt with his smile soft and face red from hairline to neckline, “thank you for not thinking I’m a huge creep.”

“I never said that,” Kurt says, grinning back with what he’s sure is a perfectly dopey expression, completely unable to keep any kind of straight face.

Blaine raises an eyebrow down at the complete lack of space between them, and Kurt feels his cheeks get hot.

“Maybe I like creeps,” he defends, and it doesn’t come out teasing like he meant it to, but soft and low and too affectionate.

Blaine looks younger when he’s startled, all round eyes and soft mouth, and Kurt almost takes it back, almost shoves the mood back into the it’s-not-flirting-if-we-don’t-acknowledge-it mood of the rest of the day. Blaine’s surprise is brief though, and then he’s smiling, sweet and pleased and Kurt almost thinks _girlish_ but there’s stubble shading Blaine’s jaw and his very-clearly-a-boy’s body pressed against Kurt’s.

“You know, maybe I’m the one who should be worried,” Blaine says as he sort of _settles_ himself against Kurt, “My mom doesn’t let me have boys here overnight. They might take advantage of her poor, innocent son.”

The poor, innocent son has his hands on Kurt’s hips, thumbs digging up under the hem of Kurt’s shirt and fingers slipping through his belt loops. Blaine’s face is angled down, looking at up at Kurt through his lashes and he’s smiling but not joking. Kurt looks down the few inches he’s got on Blaine and thinks _oh_. There’s a brief, embarrassed flash of _well duh_ because this is Blaine and of course he was waiting for Kurt to make the first move and Kurt feels silly for not realizing that sooner. Kurt shoves that aside quickly though, because it is incredible necessary that he kiss Blaine now.

Kurt is grateful for Brittany now -- he at least knows the basic mechanics so he doesn’t embarrass himself by mashing their noses together or hitting their teeth. Blaine’s mouth is soft and a little chapped, and the faint rasp of his stubble against Kurt’s cheeks is something Kurt hadn’t even known he wanted. Kurt doesn’t think about what he’s doing, he just wants more and remembers what Brittany had done to get it. He digs his fingers into Blaine’s hair and tilts him back and a little to the right and it feels like a way bigger accomplishment than it should when Blaine’s mouth falls open a little, fitting perfect and a little wet against Kurt’s. Even better, though, is the way Blaine reacts, letting out a shuddering, startled breath, his hands tightening on Kurt’s hips. It makes the bottom of Kurt’s stomach drop out in the most amazing way and by the time they separate they’re both panting and Blaine has his hands on Kurt’s ass.

“I was,” Blaine says, then coughs into his shoulder when his voice wobbles, “I was going to be such a gentleman today.” There’s color high up on his cheeks and his mouth is red and wet. Kurt wants to do a hundred things he’s only ever seen on the internet to him.

“Sorry,” he says, not feeling at all sorry, “you’re just going to have to live with being a creep, I guess,” and he tugs a little at Blaine’s hair again because his hands are still there and because the way Blaine’s eyes flutter shut and the tense curve of his body makes Kurt feel amazing.

“Oh my god stop that right now,” Blaine says, dropping his face to Kurt’s shoulder.

Kurt obeys, stroking his hands over the curve of Blaine’s shoulders and nearly giggling because he’s wanted to do that all night and now he can. Blaine makes a complaining noise.

“Wait, wait I didn’t actually mean it,” Blaine says, plaintive, and Kurt laughs at him, maybe too loud with leftover nerves, but Blaine is giggling too, shoulders hitching and face still buried in Kurt’s shoulder.

Kurt shoves at him a little because he wants Blaine’s face up here again already, but Blaine’s hands tighten on Kurt’s ass, which makes him jump. It’s all a terrible chain reaction from there and they end up on the floor, Blaine wheezing from Kurt landing mostly on top of him. There’s a blanket tangled around his ankles and a laughing, gasping boy under him and Kurt decides, then and there, that he is never moving again. Even when Blaine flings his arms out and starts singing one of the creepiest holiday songs ever, soaring up into ridiculous falsetto on the duet parts and completely off the beat.


End file.
